by Cara Bristol
Good news: he’d located Alonio.
Bad news: he did have other capabilities.
Keeping as much of his bulk shielded by the wall as he could, he peered into the passage. Within a millisecond, his cybervision detected the target, his body hidden behind his arm-shield except for his wings, rising over his shoulders like two swords. Dale squeezed off a shot. It skimmed over the shield and hit the tip of his left wing. The Faria bellowed with pain. The satisfying stench of burning feathers wafted through the corridor.
How do you like it, asshole? This is for Illumina. He fired again, hitting lower on the wing. Alonio roared and his armor disintegrated, but before Dale could react, another fireball whizzed down the corridor, forcing him to take cover behind the wall. Maybe, before he killed the asshole, he’d pluck him alive.
Dale stole another glance. The shield was up again. Switching between flamethrower and shield and absorbing a blaster hit had to be draining. Perhaps if he kept the Faria shifting, his energy would be depleted. He fired off three blasts in quick succession. Two hit the shield; the third burned through an already-singed wing. Alonio roared. The top quarter of his right wing had been reduced to its skeletal frame.
Before his enemy could shoot off a retaliatory fireball, Dale stepped into the open and blasted down the passage, alternating between shield and wings. If Alonio’s energy ran down, he might lose his ability to transmutate altogether.
The asshole must have realized it, too, because he retreated at a fast clip. Crap. The passage fed into the starboard corridor where the escape pod bay was located and where Dale’s craft was docked.
A much smaller man than Dale, the Faria scooted through the narrow corridor with ease. Dale had to suck in his breath then inch sideways while firing to prevent Alonio from getting off another fireball and toasting him like a roast in the oven. But no way would he allow him to escape and continue his reign of terror against Illumina.
Alonio reached the end of the passage. His shield shimmered.
Oh. Shit.
You okay? March’s communique zipped into his brain.
Armor transformed to flamethrower. Oh, shit. Dale fired. The fireball blew right through the photon steam and slammed into Dale’s chest. Heat flashed upward, and the shock wave threw him backward several meters. Reflex averted his face, squeezed his eyelids shut.
When he dared to peek, his shirt was melted onto his prototype body armor, but other than a first degree burn on his face, which his nanocytes rushed to heal, he was fine. The Faria, however, was gone.
Peachy, Dale replied to March. Good news. I’ve tested the body armor, and it works.
A Cy-Ops team is on its way. ETA in twelve minutes.
Roger that. Hope they’ve got a fire extinguisher.
What?
Nothing. Homme, out. By the time Cy-Ops arrived, Alonio would be a name in history.
No longer in danger of being crisped he hastened though the passage and entered the starboard aisle. Vacant. The Faria hadn’t wasted time making himself scarce.
Plastering himself to the wall to minimize target size, he raced for the emergency bay to cut off the escape route.
The Faria’s reign of terror ended today. Right here. Illumina was armed and protected on the bridge; a team of cyborgs headed their way. Perhaps he should wait until backup arrived, but this was personal. Fuck with Illumina, you deal with me.
His opponent might stick around to fight some more, but the smarter move would be to leave the ship, lay low until he recovered his strength, and then mount a new assault. Except Alonio didn’t think rationally—he’d already proven his willingness to sacrifice his life if it meant Illumina would die.
Dale would sacrifice his life if it meant she would live.
What would the unpredictable Faria do? Would he fight or flee?
A guess and a gamble. If he went straight to the pod assuming the asshole had chosen to flee, but the Faria had opted to fight, Alonio might double back and go after Illumina. If he acted on the assumption Alonio would fight and he turned the ship inside out looking for him, but the Faria had fled, he would get away, and they’d be forced to deal with him later.
Search the ship or head off the escape? Emergency bay, he decided. If Illumina had done as Dale had told her, she should be safe.
Stay on the bridge, he transmitted to Illumina.
Silence.
Illumina! Blood pressured spiked. Why wasn’t she answering? Dale didn’t think her ex could break into the cockpit. He hadn’t thought he could get on Deceptio, either. What if Alonio had gotten to the bridge? What if the door melted under a fireball? Or what if Alonio created an electronic zapper to fry the computer circuits?
Illumina! Are you all right?
No answer. Forget the emergency bay, forget searching the ship. He pivoted to check on her.
She marched toward him. “I’m here,” she said.
Why did women never do what you told them to? “You were supposed to stay on the bridge.” How could he keep her safe if she was running around the ship?
“Alonio’s getting away. I saw him on the monitor,” she said. “He’s in the emergency bay. He’s trying to break into your escape pod. I tried to contact you, but I couldn’t get through. By the time I heard you calling, I was already here.”
His fault. He’d blocked her so he could focus, wouldn’t be distracted by her distress. “It’s still not safe. Go back to the bridge,” he ordered, and ran for the emergency bay.
Through the door’s viewing window, he spied Alonio, singed wings drooping, entering codes into the spacepod’s keypad.
“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not getting off the ship and you’re not taking my pod either.” Dale’s fingers flew over the computer screen, trying every code his microprocessor could come up with, but the system was frozen.
Emergency bay access had been stymied by a computer sensate. But Alonio faced a challenge, too. Did he recognize the Lamis-Odg origin of the escape module and realize the password was written in the Odgidian language? Battle of the hackers. Whoever gained entry first would win.
Illumina touched his elbow. Damnable woman. She didn’t listen very well. “Let me,” she said. She nudged him aside, palmed the screen, and closed her eyes. A moment later, she sucked in breath. “Clever.”
That didn’t sound good. “What is?”
“He’s inserted a mutation code to alter the password when you apply the PIN.”
“When did he do that?”
“About three minutes ago. Basically, he’s locked down the system.”
“Can you free it?” Dale didn’t take his eyes off Alonio.
“I’m working on it.”
It killed him to stand and wait, but her hacking skills exceeded his. She was their best chance to open the emergency bay. Hurry, Illumina, hurry.
He couldn’t hear through the reinforced walls, but there was no misunderstanding the triumphant fist pump. A second later, the pod hatch sprang open.
“He did it.” The bastard would escape.
The Faria straightened, turned around, and made eye contract. Smirking, he saluted then stepped toward the open hatch.
This is only the battle, not the war. But failure burned in Dale’s gut.
Illumina pressed her lips together. “It’s not over yet. I’ll bet he forgot one set of passwords.” She palmed the screen; her forehead furrowed in concentration. “Computer!” She inhaled. “Open emergency bay shuttle launch door.”
Alonio’s eyes bulged and his mouth yawned in a silent scream as the ship’s external wall slid open. The escape pod, tethered by a lock-down, remained in place, but the vacuum of space sucked Alonio into the blackness. His body inflated like a giant winged balloon as blood gasses bubbled underneath his skin. He flailed arms, legs, and wings in a desperate, futile attempt to fight his way back to the ship. Though Illumina couldn’t see the effects of the extreme cold, with his cybervision, Dale could. Mouth, eyes, and nose—the watery parts of his body—froze ove
r. Within moments, his skin turned blue, and frantic movements slowed. In 13.2 seconds, struggle ceased altogether. His heart no longer able to pump, Alonio went limp as he passed out from the lack of oxygen.
He drifted away to meet death. Dale opened a line to Cy-Ops, cancelled the extraction, and requested recovery of the body.
Illumina closed and re-pressurized the bay. Her lips quivered. She burst into sobs.
Dale enfolded her in his arms and rocked.
Killing someone was never easy. Not even when the bastard deserved it.
Chapter Seventeen
Two weeks later
Dale folded his hands behind his head as Illumina disrobed. Health, well-being, and luminosity had returned since her abduction a fortnight ago. Even the night terrors had abated. The artificial light of Deceptio’s underground habitat bounced off spiky, silvery hair already growing out.
Her smile was pure seduction. “Like what you see?”
“You know I do.” His erection tented the thin spread tucked beneath his armpits. She approached the bed, and he tossed back the covers so she could join him.
She eased onto the mattress and faced him. Arms and legs entwined in a comfortable tangle. Her thigh slid between his legs; his arm found its place beneath her head.
Despite Alonio’s demise and her physical recovery, the score had yet to be evened. Dale did not consider the matter finished. There could be no forgiveness for the Faria’s crimes. He was dead, but Illumina had not received justice, and he ached to give it to her. He often replayed the final scene, wished he had been the one to open the hatch and shoot Alonio’s body into space. Wished he’d been able to drag the still-alive, bloated Faria back in, rip off his wings, and eject him again. Death had come too quickly. Illumina’s cuts and bruises had healed, her hair was regenerating, but the loss of her wings remained permanent and painful. Unless…
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Are you reading my mind again?” He had to be careful.
“No. It’s written all over your face.” She touched between his brows. “You get an intense look when you think of him.”
“Sorry.” He kissed her. He focused on how her sweet breath mingled with his, her face so smooth against his cheek, the bold way she kissed.
“That’s better,” she murmured and squeezed his erection. Soft fingers fondled with a firm touch the way he liked. Her thumb swiped over the head.
He groaned in submission to her caresses, his body strung between relaxation and tension. With every stroke, every caress, his desire ratcheted higher and higher, organic cells and robotic nanocytes vibrating with need and demand, buzzing in harmony. His emotional human and his analytical cyborg were never more integrated than when he was with her. She loved him as he was. Understood him. Accepted him. She’d given him a soft place to fall, a place he hadn’t known he’d been searching for. With her at his side, in his bed, he found completeness.
His one wish was to give to her what she had given him.
He’d gotten the go-ahead this morning. The one time he’d broached the subject of cybermed pain management, she’d refused to discuss it. So he had to keep his secret until he could show her in hopes that seeing would convince her. Since the rescue, their mental bond had strengthened. Telepathy occurred with ease, and, during intimate encounters, almost automatically. So he’d locked his plan behind a firewall and hoped it held.
He never wanted her to think he required more of her than what she was. He loved her scars and all, but he ached for her loss, her pain. She could be prickly, sensitive, so he had to show her before he could tell her. Even then she might reject the idea.
The proposal didn’t come with guarantees, only a gamble, and he had no wish to reopen painful, old wounds. Brock had sent him updates on Carter’s recovery, and the idea, first rejected as impossible, then as too risky, had grown into something possible. Maybe…
He wrestled with doubt on an hourly basis. What if it failed?
Holy fuck, what if it succeeded?
She’s going to find out, if you don’t stop thinking about it.
Putting his thoughts on hold was easy enough to do when she closed her fingers around his shaft, lighting a hot fuse that traveled into his abdomen and set him on fire. A sure grip, a firm squeeze, a long slide, and Lao-Tzu, Buddha, Jesus. He stopped her before he tumbled over the brink. He cupped her breasts and thumbed nipples already hardened for his touch, massaged her clit, and combed his fingers gently through her hair, even more sensitive during regeneration.
Her soft moans excited him as her touch had done.
Illumina signaled her readiness by grabbing his shoulders to pull him on top. He resisted, trying to maneuver her onto him. Good-naturedly they wrestled.
“We’ve done it this way before,” she argued.
Once. But her pain caused him discomfort. “It’s not good for your back.” Nor did he care to risk injuring the remnants of her wings at this critical juncture.
“My back may never improve beyond what it is. Are we never going to have sex that way?”
“Never is a long time.” He won the tussle and pulled her on top of him.
She tsked. “Next time…” She lowered herself onto his cock and began to rock.
He groaned. “I’ll look forward to it.” He palmed her breasts and thrust his pelvis, meeting her stroke for stroke. Pleasure shot through his body in an undulating wave, driving him to the edge again. She neared her own climax, her head flung back, her face contorted in a rapturous grimace, ripples in her pussy tightening around his dick. Shuddering, they climbed the heights of ecstasy.
Next time we do it my way. He heard her voice in his head.
She was persistent. Her stubbornness didn’t surprise him. Tenacity had kept her alive when she had nothing else to protect her. Maybe next time indeed. He’d been smart to erect the firewall.
While passion subsided to a warm throb, he held her, caressing her back, her skin slickened by perspiration.
“Are you packed and ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded, her head bumping his chin. “We’ll be gone a couple of days or so?”
“Or so.” At least a month. He’d debated how much to tell her; after all, she had the highest stake, but he felt in his gut it would take more than words to persuade her.
“I’m so thankful Sonny and Carter survived. I’d never be able to forgive myself if they’d died because of me.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I called them in, and everyone in Cy-Ops accepts the risks, especially Carter.”
“He couldn’t have known about Charlie.”
“No. If anyone should have, I should have.” He’d been a cyberoperative for goodness sake. If he’d investigated more thoroughly, he probably would have learned about the gambling addiction and recognized the security risk from the start. People with vices or vulnerabilities were easily exploited.
By that reasoning, he never should have hired Illumina. She’d been the biggest risk of all.
Not hiring her would have been the biggest mistake of his life.
“Desperate people do desperate things,” she said.
“Yes.” In truth, there’d been no malicious intent to Charlie’s betrayal, only a desire to repay a perceived debt. He believed his assistant when he claimed not to have known what Alonio, an AOP ambassador, had intended. Still, Charlie should have known better.
While his assistant had broken no planetary laws, only Moonbeam procedure, his actions had nearly killed three people, two of them with Cyber Operations. Cy-Ops would neither forgive nor forget.
“How long do you think Cy-Ops will keep Charlie?” Illumina asked. Under the circumstances, past and future, she had a need-to-know about the clandestine organization, so he’d come clean. She’d guessed everything except the name of the outfit, anyway. His Faria was smart.
“Carter will decide when he’s back at the helm.”
“I’m so glad I have the chance to thank him for ev
erything he tried to do for me. How much longer will he be at Cybermed?”
“Probably another month. The surgery to replace his lost limbs and to implant the microprocessor is the quickest part. Working out the synchronicity between his human brain and the processor takes a bit.” It wasn’t like rolling an android off the assembly line.
He sought her gaze. “Cyborgs are still human,” he said. “Or Faria, or Lamis-Odg, or whatever race they were before the computer and mechanical mods.”
She scowled as if he’d implied she was cyberphobe. “I know that.”
That’s what he counted on.
Chapter Eighteen
Three weeks later
Late in the evening, the workout/training area of the Cybermed facility was deserted except for one man on the running machine.
“He’s bigger than he used to be,” Illumina murmured as they watched Carter push his biomimetic legs to the limit. Although he’d lost only one leg to the saber, Carter had opted to replace both with cyber prosthetics to maximize function and strength. The Cy-Ops director had been a tall man, but now, like his cyborg brothers, under the influence of nanocytes, he’d added bulk. Deltoids and pecs bulged; abs rippled.
“Faster, too.” Dale clocked him at ninety-six kilometers per hour, the equivalent speed of a cheetah, the fastest Terran land mammal.
“I can hear you,” Carter called with only a slight pant.
“His hearing’s improved, too,” he whispered. She giggled.
“Computer, decelerate and halt running machine,” Carter ordered.
When the deck rolled to a final stop, he leaped off, snagged a towel then strode toward them. “Taking off tomorrow?” He wiped his face.
“At the break of dawn.”
“Back in a couple of months, right?”
“That’s a fair estimate. After I finalize the contract with Xenia, recruit and train a shop overseer and a replacement for March, we’ll report to Cy-Ops for active duty.” It hadn’t taken much arm-twisting on Carter’s part to get Dale—and March, too—to re-up.
